


Bad Blood, Disney Movies and Running Away

by Flameysaur



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cop AU, F/M, Pregnant Emma, Swan Cricket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flameysaur/pseuds/Flameysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four times Archie made Emma laugh and the one time he made her cry. Cop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood, Disney Movies and Running Away

**Author's Note:**

> Emma isn't underage in this, but there is a sizable age difference.

The first time Archie made Emma laugh, he was only trying to cheer up his partner’s depressed kid. Or at least, that’s what he told himself at the time. Emma Swan wasn’t having a good life. David and Mary Margaret—middle school sweethearts who got “in trouble” in high school—would have been excellent parents, but not at fifteen and fourteen respectively. Besides, Mary Margaret had to worry about her stepmother who was growing increasingly aggressive and vindictive after her husband’s sudden death. Mary Margaret couldn’t bring a child into that home. David hadn’t been doing much better. His mother and he had run a dying farm on its last leg. They gave the child up, fought on in their lives and eventually—with some casualties, MM’s inheritance, David’s mother—gotten out of the small town and escaped to Boston.

Years passed, college for Mary Margaret, the police academy for David, they were happy. But they didn’t have their kid. They didn’t have much, but they knew they had enough. They began the search for Emma. They didn’t find her until she was fifteen, and angry at the world. They had hoped a steady home, schooling and lots of love would heal some old wounds. Emma ran less than two years later, a day shy of her seventeenth birthday. They only heard from her once, on her eighteenth birthday, a simple note.

“Don’t look for me.”

They didn’t listen. Offering money, support, a home, anything in exchange for some part of her life. Then they finally learned the price.

Six months ago Emma called from a jail cell. Apparently, her boyfriend pinned her with some watches he stole. He took most of them, but gave her one as a lover’s token turned key evidence. David and Mary Margaret put everything they had into getting her off. David used his long list of solved cases, Mary Margaret’s excellent reputation at her school—saint-like really—Emma’s age, just a few days older than nineteen, and finally, the small spark of life Emma carried, to argue her case from ten months in jail to twelve months of parole, under his and his wife’s personal custody.

“It’s your second chance.” Archie’s partner had said to his daughter, holding her tight. Archie knew though he was talking to himself. David had his kid, he wasn’t willing to give her up again.

Emma wasn’t reacting well. Archie personally thought it was some of Emma’s behavior that swayed the judges. She moved through everything as a zombie, one hand splayed over her stomach and eyes wide. According to Mary Margaret, the only time she showed emotion since calling home was when a yellow Bug appeared in front of their house with a simple note saying, “Sorry.”

Emma broke three plates and a door.

Now she sat in David and Mary Margaret’s small kitchen, in what was normally Archie’s chair. She had nothing in front of her. Cold toast sat in the toaster, and she played with a knife, but she wasn’t getting up. Archie stood in the doorway, frowning as he looked over her. He’d long ago gotten in the habit of stopping in an hour or so before work, David often slept in and Mary Margaret liked to make sure Archie got food, being a bachelor. Now both were absent, either asleep or unable to handle Emma right now or perhaps just needing some time to be a couple after the past stressful months. So Archie decided he’d try to cheer her up.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, but she jumped. She flipped the butter knife in her hand so it became a weapon before she dropped it entirely. Archie raised his eyebrows. He’d seen those reflexes in street kids before. It said a lot. Her face never changed, blank and dull, like a doll. Archie’s heart ached for her.

“You must be hungry.” He said, nodding to the empty plate in front of her, and by extension, her rounded stomach. Emma raised and dropped one shoulder. “Here, how about I make you some fresh toast while you eat a banana.” Archie didn’t know much about pregnancy—he certainly never experienced it, but he was pretty sure fruit couldn’t be bad. He grabs a banana off the top of the fridge and tossed it to Emma. She caught it, snatched it from the air. Archie grinned.

“Good one.”

Her lips twitched, a small expression, but enough to make his heart soar.

“And if you eat that, I’ll make you my specialty.” He promised. He grabbed her cold toast, and popped it into his mouth. He’s eaten worse before rushing off to work. He was comfortable in David’s kitchen, almost more comfortable than his own. Archie had a few partners before David, but they hadn’t clicked with Archie like David had. It was like he had a family. Certainly, David and Mary Margaret were nothing like his _real_ family.

“What’s your specialty?” Emma asked, around a mouthful of banana.

“Hot chocolate.”

She snorted behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and gave his most mischievous grin. It felt more like a bashful smile.

“I make it the super old fashion way. You’ll love it, trust me.”

She gave him a wary look, but finished the fruit. He nodded, pushing the tab on the toaster and taking another bite of her old toast as he rummaged through Mary Margaret’s cupboards. She always kept his chocolate around—his hot chocolate had soothed more than one bad day for MM—but liked to tuck it away.

“Ah ha.” He found the hunk of chocolate wrapped in tinfoil and pulled it out. Then he got a small saucepan and a knife. He could feel Emma’s eyes on him as he started to cut hunks into the pan. He began to whistle, an old Disney song. He wondered if Emma ever got to really watch all the Disney movies growing up. He never did. He knew how easy those expected childhood rites could pass you by, when your guardians didn’t care.

As Archie warmed the chocolate and milk, he quickly buttered Emma’s toast between quick whisks. She gave him an odd look when he put the toast in front of her, but since that meant showing actual expression on her face, Archie just smiled. When everything was well mixed, he poured his hot chocolate into a mug and reached for the whipped cream and cinnamon Mary Margaret always liked on her coco. He carefully sprinkled the cinnamon over the cream, trying for something special, then he offered it to her.

Emma frowned at the mug. She turned it one way, then another.

“Why is the cinnamon weird?” she asked, some of the old bite, from before she ran away, back in her voice. He walked to her side, leaning over to turn the mug the right way. She smelled of David’s soap and Mary Margaret’s shampoo; two smells he smelled ever day and never really noticed.

This time it made his throat dry, so his words came out in a slight stutter.

“It’s, uh, a smiley face. See? That’s the eyes and the, uh…mouth…” He trailed off. His cheeks burned. He didn’t need to feel the fire to know. He cursed his red head complexion.

Emma twisted the mug again. Then, after a minute, she started to giggle. The giggles stretched into a laugh. Archie pulled back, but unable to not join along.

Emma Swan had a beautiful laugh, bright and loud, like no one could ever silence her. Archie decided, then and there, she had to do it more often. And he’d do what it took to make sure it happened.

* * *

Emma didn’t like living with David and Mary Margaret. Their place was small, cramped—not that she wasn’t used to cramp living places. Her room was only slightly bigger than a postage stamp—not that she didn’t like having a room where she could close a door and no one would open it. One of them was always _there_ —not that they didn’t both work long hours and she could, if she tried, avoid them for days at a time.

What she hated most was the discomfort always plucking at her skin around them. Mary Margaret looked at her with her whole heart in her eyes and Emma felt like running right there. Then there was David, who bounced around her like a high schooler nervous about asking her out on a date. But his questions were always annoyingly considerate.

“Need a ride to the hospital?”

“Is your room warm enough? Cold enough?”

“Are you hungry? Wanting anything? I’ll get it, just ask.”

Neither of them touched Emma, but she could tell they wanted too. Mary Margaret’s hands fluttered like injured birds, ready to stroke and soothe but always pulling back. Then David with his awkward bro-punches stopped before contact, or the way he’d go to pat her back just because she did something mundane like figure out the Jeopardy answers before the contests did. All of it drove Emma up the wall.

But none of it was worth going to prison over.

There was one perk to living with David and Mary Margaret; Archie Hopper, David’s partner. He came over nearly every day and while Emma remembered him—vaguely—from before she ran the first time, they didn’t really talk until now. He didn’t touch her either, but he didn’t seem to want to. Sometimes he leaned close—like the day with the hot chocolate—but there was something respectful about his closeness. Like you knew he’d never take the mile, no matter how many inches you gave him.

Not that Emma knew anything about guys like that. Even David took miles for inches. After all, he forced her here, when she just wanted to disappear in jail and be gone for good. She should have never called him.

That’s a lie; she didn’t want to go to jail. She sighed, turning on the couch that only made her back feel worse. Her back had been hurting all day. She knew it didn’t mean anything—even as she checked every bathroom visit for blood—but it made her grumpy.

“Hey.” Archie’s soft voice didn’t surprise her. David was around somewhere, so Archie had to be too. Emma leaned her head back over the sofa arm, arching her back to stretch it. It also made her stomach bulge and she grimaced, finally sitting up. She didn’t like showing off her quickly growing belly with Archie around. It bugged her and she didn’t know why. So she grabbed a blanket—one of MM’s many crocheted things—and threw it over her stomach.

“Hey.” She said at last, too late. Not that Archie minded. He never minded her weird ways. He leaned against the wall, his pinstripe sleeves rolled up. His jacket was off, so Emma could see his shoulder holster. He and David often forgot to take their guns off, but it looked better on Archie. David was too perfect, too Golden boy pretty. Archie was softer, with his receding hair and laugh lines. It toughened him just the right amount.

“You look grumpy.” He reached into the kitchen, right behind him in the tiny apartment, and grabbed an apple, throwing it to her. She caught it, always a second too soon because it made him smile his slow smile. She liked that smile best. She pouted though, because he paid more attention to her when she was unhappy.

Emma shouldn’t want another man’s attention. Not after…She took a bite of the apple, the crunch felt good in her ears. It was violent.

“My back hurts. And I’m bored. We never go anywhere.” She sighed, but when flopping back on the couch, she made sure to leave room for him. She didn’t really want to go anywhere. That would bring David and Mary Margaret back into the picture.

He looked at her. It was a weird look, too long and lingering. On other guys, she’d think he was checking her out, but this was Archie and she was six months pregnant and in a pissy mood, so she couldn’t imagine anyone liking her right now.

“How about I go rent some movies?”

“Please, MM and David will want to make it a movie night.” She gagged, though the last movie night hadn’t been that bad. She got her own bowl of popcorn and no one talked. Plus Mary Margaret had let her pick the movies and it was almost like a real family moment. Not that Emma believed in family anymore.

Her hand moved over her belly, though she hated doing that around Archie, and she wondered—not for the first time—about the child in there. Adoption sounded best, for her, for Mary Margaret and David, for everyone. But Emma remembered the system and the last thing in the world she wanted to do was put another child in it. She’d kill herself before that’d happen. And Emma had no plans of dying soon.

“—could be just us?”

“Huh?” Emma blinked, coming away from her dark moment. Archie smiled, because he never minded. She liked that about him.

“David and Mary Margaret normally have a date night, I’m sure they’d be convinced to take one. And, so it could be just us.” He said, casually, looking carefully above her head instead of at her eyes. And Emma wondered again. But her hand was still one her stomach and she remembered another man who used to look so shyly at her. Then he left. And that’s why she was here. No. Not Archie, couldn’t be Archie.

“Sure.” She said. “I’ll order us a pizza. We’ll make a night of it.”

He grinned again. “I’ll get the movies. Do you like Disney films?”

Emma shrugged, she never really watched them, and something moved over Archie’s face. Something almost like pity, which riled Emma up, but it was gone before she could get mad.

“You’ll love them.” He promised.

Two hours later, David and Mary Margaret were gone on their date—a picnic in the park—and Archie was explaining the moral stories in each Disney movie he put on. He got them all, even though they’d only be able to watch a few.

“You should watch the others, before they’re due back.” He told her, because he must know she spends most of her days avoiding either David or MM. Movies could kill the time. But she wasn’t listening to the movie, she was listening to Archie. He had right and wrong answers to _everything_. He explained them to her like she was a child, but his face was the one full of innocent wonder. He sat on the floor, so she could stretch out on the couch, eyes glued to the TV but hands moving as he explained why the Beast needed to be punished, or how the Queen’s vanity, not magic, made her evil.

“So, like, what this the shit you thought up as a kid?” she finally asked, fascinated by the idea of a childhood spent debating right and wrong instead of scrounging for food and avoiding being hit.

His hands fell. The wonder drained from his face and he looked more like a cop than ever, stern face and empty eyes.

“No.” He said at last. “I didn’t watch a Disney movie, the classics at least, until I was in my twenties.”

She frowned, shifted on the couch so she was a little closer.

“Why not? I thought every kid watched Disney.”

“Did you?” He asked, one eyebrow raised.

“No, but…” The look on his face stopped her. Her eyes widened. “Are you an orphan t—?” She barely managed to cut off the “too”. Even with David and Mary Margaret out of the house, she didn’t want to be that rude.

He shook his head. “Naw, my parents were just awful all on their own.” Something flickered over his face, twitching of eyebrows, tugging of lips. It looked almost like a scowl, but Archie never scowled, never got mad. “They were conmen and crooks. They liked taking what people couldn’t afford. Like rent money before rent day, or keys to the car when they were late for a job interview. It made them laugh.”

Emma had no words. Empathy, caring, she was never good at it. The one time she tried loving someone, it blew up in her face. But she reached out, put one hand on his shoulder. Archie leaned his head against it, so she felt the stubble on his cheek and the warmed leather of his shoulder holster.

They said nothing for a while, just watched as Belle ran from her Beast, back to her father. It was when Gaston was chiding Belle for her affection that Emma laughed. It was a stupid, inappropriate laugh, but those were the ones she could never stop.

“What?” Archie pulled back from her touch, but he was smiling, so she didn’t mind.

“Sorry. I just thought we made quite a pair. The criminals’ kid who became a cop and the cop’s kid who became a criminal.”

“You’re not a criminal. You just made a mistake.” He said, tucking some hair behind her ear. She grinned, snickering a little. He finally chuckled. “But you’re right. We’re quite a pair.”

Emma couldn’t stop the smile, not that she wanted to. She and Archie were a pair. She was thrilled.

* * *

 

The carnival came to town every year. And Archie mentioned it to David and Mary Margaret every year. And every year they said it sounded nice, that they should really go, and this year they would make time. But then, the end of spring was always so busy for Mary Margaret, and David and Archie always had two cases too many to really work on. And the time didn’t come. This year, Archie mentioned it when Emma was in the room, and he knew when Emma’s eyes light up and she mumbled something about “Never been to a carnival”, the end of the world wouldn’t have stopped David and Mary Margaret from making time now.

Archie managed to find a little time himself. It wasn’t because when he thought about Emma, an extra spring entered his step. Or that seeing her, talking with her, being with her was often the best part of his day. No, being with David and Mary Margaret was always the best part of the day, it was just nice not to be the only one let out of their ‘we’ve been dating since childhood’ loop they had. It was a family day, and he was part of the family. He was Emma’s honorary uncle, when he really thought about it. And uncles are often delighted to spend time with their nieces.

Then she got a cone, first thing, when they entered the carnival. It was already melting when she got it and her tongue darted up the cone after the white trail. And Archie was hit by desire, hard, in the gut. His air left him in a big whoosh as everything _hit_ him. He wanted her.

He turned from Emma, suddenly her innocent pleasure at a treat too much for him. He thought it _erotic_ for God’s sake. A seven month pregnant kid. His partner’s kid. And he wanted so badly to slide up to her—in front of her _parents_ and his best friends—and lick the ice cream that dotted her nose. His bad blood was showing. Bad blood always showed. He knew that better than anyone. You think you’re good. You think if you try hard enough you’ll be good.

But bad blood always shows.

“Archie?” Mary Margaret looked over, concern shining in her eyes. He gave a smile, waved two fingers, trying not to worry her…or Emma.

“Sorry, leg cramp.” He lied. “I’ll…go sit for a minute.”

David and Mary Margaret gave him a look, but he limped over to the nearest bench. Once he knew his friends—his _family_ —wasn’t watching him, he dropped his head into his hands. What was he doing?

Emma was a sweet girl. Suffering from heartbreak. She needed to trust in her family, learn to see people won’t always abandon her. She needed care, and time, and to worry about herself, about her kid.

Archie hadn’t asked about the baby, not to David, not to Emma. He deliberately blocked it out of his mind, and now he knew why. Because when he thought of the baby’s future, he imagined holding it, waking up at 3AM to take care of it for Emma, being there.

He wasn’t just attracted to a child. He _loved_ her. The big love. The love he managed to avoid for all of his—now far too many—years.

Archie rubbed his face hard and tried to think of a way to fix this. To nip this love in the bud. But it didn’t feel like a bud, it felt like a blooming forest in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to act on it. Surely acting on love was never wrong?

But she was a _child_.

“Hey.” Emma sat next to him. A slow decent onto the bench that he couldn’t stop himself from assisting. He grabbed her arm, and rested a hand on her lower back. Her arm was chilled by the night air, but her back was warm where her shirt rode up and his fingers brushed against her skin. “Gonna sit here all night?”

“Just enjoying the sights.” He gave a small smile.

“You were covering your eyes for ‘enjoying the sights’.” She pointed out, an eyebrow raised. He gave a sheepish smile.

“Got me.” He whispered.

“Case bothering you?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“David does that.” She covered her face like he did, spreading her legs wide so she could adjust for her belly as she leaned over. “When a case is bad. Then Mary Margaret gets him tea or beer. And they ignore me for the rest of the night.” She frowned, leaning back. “Is it bad that I enjoy that?”

“No, of course not.” He said quickly, unable to stop his hand from reaching out, touching her shoulder. “This is hard for you.”

She frowned deeper, but leaned against him. His heart jumped in his chest.

“They make me itchy. The way they look at me, like I’m all their hopes and dreams. I don’t like it.” She pressed one hand to her stomach. “It’s worse now. That I’ve come back. That I fucked everything up.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up.”

She snickered, surprising him.

“You shouldn’t swear.” She said, giving him a smirk and looking so much older than her nineteen. “It looks weird on you.”

“Sorry.” He smiled back, because how could you not smile back to Emma Swan?

“It’s cool.”

She was silent for a long time, leaning against him, hand on her belly. He wanted to cover her hand with his, to just be there, with her and her thoughts. Make sure she knew she wasn’t alone, but he didn’t know now, was that an okay action or a wrong action? What’s the difference between the loving touch of a friend and a lover besides intention?

“Hey, how good are you with your gun?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“I want to win a prize. I’ve never won anything.” She said, getting up. He got up faster, helping her to her feet. She grinned up at him, but there was a spark in her eye, determined and hard. “Show me how to win a prize.” She dragged him to the small shooting range, where a large array of stuffed animals hung by their necks around the booth. Emma pointed to a blue elephant. “That one.” she said to the man behind the counter. “What does it take to win that one?”

“At least fifty points or one bullseye.” He said. “Five bucks a turn.”

Archie winced at the price but stopped Emma before she could reach for her wallet. He didn’t even know if she had money. David and Mary Margaret didn’t exactly carry cash, and Emma didn’t need to buy anything. He handed over a ten; sure they’ll need the extra shots.

“Got five shots a turn.”

“Expensive bullets.” Archie mumbled, but he handed the gun to Emma. It was a toy shotgun, not something he was used to shooting, but he helped her with her stance. (Kept his hands far away from her legs, just spread his own to show. But he did twist her shoulders and straightened her back. He was just a man.) He taught her how to use the sight, to hold her breath as she took the shot, to keep as still as possible. She was good with being still but her hand jerked when she shot and the first shot didn’t even hit the target. “It’s okay,” He rubbed her shoulder. “Got nine more shots.”

“I know.” She grited her teeth and aimed again. Her hand jerked a second time, but less so. Five points. She got three more shots, and twenty five points, when the man mentioned the points when back to zero between rounds. Archie gritted his teeth in annoyance—how much could that damn elephant cost anyway?—but Emma just grinned.

“I got this.” She said. She straightened her stance, even without his help. She took a deep breath and shot. Thirty points, first go. Archie raised his eyebrows in shock, but it appeared to be a lucky shot. Her next two missed entirely. The bright, confident grin faded slightly but Emma’s eyes—where her real emotion laid—were just as determined. Another shot. Thirty five. Another, forty five. Last shot and…

She cried out.

“Bullseye! I got a bullseye!” She let out an excited scream, laughter spilling from her lips. The man smiled—he got his ten bucks—and pulled down the elephant.

“Here you go, miss. Nice toy for your guys’ son.”

Emma snatched the toy—it was almost as big as her belly—but the laughter stopped. Archie blushed, but he put one hand on Emma’s back, mumbled his thanks and led her away. No point in making a scene with a stranger.

The elephant had a tuff of hair at the top of its head, and Emma was stroking it.

“That guy thought we were dating.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know what else to say. He could say something about age, but she might think it was against her. He could joke about Emma being too good for him, but she didn’t trust people, and you don’t have trust issues when you think you’re great. So instead, he stayed quiet, let her find the words, and prayed it was the right choice.

“I’m giving this to the baby.” She said, holding the elephant tight. She should have looked like a child then, giant toy in her arms, voice soft, eyes big. But age had settled on her with those words. Weight of the world—a child’s world, the largest world—settled on her shoulders. “And I’m going to keep him. Mary Margaret and David…they said they’d help. And you,” she looked up at him. Archie didn’t need to be a mind reader to know her heart was in those eyes. Strong, determined, and waiting to be rejected. “You’ll help. Right?”

“Of course. You’re not alone anymore, Emma.” He said and wanted more than anything to kiss her.

“I never feel alone with you.” She confessed. And he might have done something, damn him. He might have taken the step to close the gap. He might have tilted her chin up, and done something stupid. Because she was a child and he was not.

But his friends are lifesavers and horrible people and Mary Margaret’s sweet voice called out over the crowd.

“Emma! Archie! There you are.”

Archie should have been relieved. But he had bad blood.

* * *

 

Things changed in the Nolan household after Emma made her announcement. Money was found for baby supplies. Mary Margaret was thrilled. She took Emma to all the thrift stores, looking for used toys and clothes and equipment. They found an old small crib that she was sure could be fit into Emma’s room, and bibs that she knew could get the stains out of, and she talked so excitedly about having a baby in the house, of baby proofing everything, that Emma forgot this was a huge bother. She put the thought out of her mind completely when Mary Margaret, scrubbing some old teething toys with deluded bleach, asked quietly if the baby could call her grandma, or if that was too much to ask for from Emma.

“N-no!” She said quickly. “I…think that would be good. For him. I mean.”

Mary Margaret beamed like she just won a kingdom and guilt twisted in Emma’s gut, because she still couldn’t call her mom.

David helped Emma try to think of something to do with her life. Both he and Mary Margaret were adamant she stay with the baby at first, that they’d take care of everything and she wasn’t to worry, but she did need a job. More, Emma needed something to _be_. She wasn’t the type to lose herself in motherhood. She hoped (prayed, begged, pleaded) that she’d be a good mom, but she wasn’t nurturing. Hell, the first thing she did when she decided to be a mom was to shoot things.

She wondered if she’d be a good cop. She wondered if, like Archie, she could be better than she came from. She wondered if she could be in the same precinct as David—her father—and Archie. Or if that would be weird.

She wondered a lot about Archie. Partly because it seemed every stray thought lead back to him, but also because he didn’t come around as much. She never noticed that he seemed to always be there until he never was. He apparently got sick after the fair. Then he took vacation from his job—something about visiting an old friend—and now, though back at work, he hadn’t stopped by the house.

She didn’t like thinking about what that meant. Because Archie said he’d be here for her kid, and Archie didn’t break promises. Because if Archie broke promises, then David and Mary Margaret could break promises. And if they broke promises…

Emma would surely shatter.

So Emma threw herself into motherhood. She rearranged—or had David rearrange, depending on how her back felt at the time—her room a thousand different ways, trying to get the crib in. She cleared out drawers to fit in the new baby clothes. She read parenting books and scoured over baby names. She watched kid’s programming, trying to decide what was good enough for her kid to watch. (And maybe enjoy the childhood everyone else got.)

She missed Archie like crazy. She watched a rerun of Dora the Explorer and wondered what Archie would think of the moral implication of a girl running away from home to save animals. The villain was clearly an anti-thieving message; that she thought he’d appreciate like she did. With wry amusement.

Times like this, Emma forgot she was here because of a court order, or because of being abandoned, or even that anything was wrong. Curled up on the couch, one arm wrapped around her stomach, she felt like a normal young mother, excited and eager for the next step in life.

And of course, that’s when Archie made his return.

“Hey.” He said. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, like he did so many days before. He still wore his jacket, covering his shirt and shoulder holster. Still wore his shoes that he always kicked off the second he came in. Still wore anything he’d need to walk out of there at a moment’s notice.

And he carried a stack of DVDs.

“What are those?”

“Have you heard of the Disney vault?” He asked, taking a step forward, and retreating again.

“No?”

“Apparently, Disney doesn’t sell certain movies at certain times. To drive up sales.” He took another step forward, this one taking. He crossed to her and put the movies on the ottoman that doubled as a coffee table.

“Are those…” Emma tried to lean closer, but couldn’t. She looked up to Archie instead. He shuffled his feet.

“All the Disney classic. Anything a kid would want to watch. I got all the fairy tales, though I know it’s a boy. He needs to watch that stuff too.” He said, moving to the couch. “It’s important to not tell him boys only care about violence, then that’s all he will care about.” He ran his hand over the DVD spines, most of them still wrapped in plastic. “But I also got some fun classics for him, Robin Hood is great. I loved it.”

Emma stared at him. He gave her a side look, or was trying to avoid looking at her. She couldn’t tell. He hung back still, sheepish, cheeks slightly red. Emma snickered and gave him a smirk.

“Is this an apology?”

“It’s a baby gift.” He mumbled.

She reached over and hit him, hard. He flinched but didn’t do anything else.

“Don’t leave.” She said, keeping her tone light because it fit the mood. But she wondered, why did he leave? If he was just going to come back, sheepish and apologetic. He smiled though, his slow sheepish smile, and she couldn’t find it in her to care. Because he was here and he had the right to go at anytime. He wasn’t family, not like David and Mary Margaret.

“I just though your kid, he should have the real moral education.”

“Yeah, no more criminals coming from cops.” Emma mumbled, rubbing her stomach. “He’s going to be great. A hero.”

“Absolutely.”

He then decided she had to watch Robin Hood, because, of course she’d never seen it. And at some point, he ended up on the couch with her. And though he sat at the other end, she’d gotten cold and curled up with him. Then Mary Margaret came in, and she sat on the couch. And David shortly after. And Emma knew what it was to have a family night.

It wasn’t family night without Archie.

* * *

 

Archie stopped avoiding Emma after the DVD fiasco. Talking to Marco, an old friend from before his cop days, helped clear his head a little but mostly missing her and missing his family had done the rest. He got the DVDs as kind of an apology and—if he was being honest with himself, and if he was going to Hell, he should do it honestly—as a weird courting gift.

He kept it up.

It wasn’t often he didn’t come over without something for the baby—Henry Emma was trying out—a stuffed toy, a trio of onsies, a box of diapers and baby powder. Anything he thought small enough to be appropriate, and useful enough to be loved.

Mary Margaret knew what he was doing. He could tell. When she came in and found Emma curled up against him on the couch—and that had been heavenly and awful and he hated himself for both emotions—he knew she knew. She gave him a look, long and steady. Archie had looked back and waited three days for her to say something. But instead, she left them alone in a room one time to “do laundry” and Archie knew that was her blessing.

David—bless him, he was a good cop but wasn’t great at “clues”—didn’t. Didn’t know, didn’t give his blessing, didn’t go “do laundry”. Archie didn’t mind. He still didn’t know what he was doing with Emma. Except enjoying her company and taking a lot of cold showers.

David was around the day Archie made Emma cry.

He was trying to get extra work done on a case and Archie was supposed to be helping, but he was in the living room with Emma, helping her set up the crib. It was an old crib, with no instructions left, but between the two of them, they were working it out.

Emma still cursed a lot.

When it was finally done, Emma let out a giant laugh.

“Yes! We got you, you fucking bastard!” She said, hitting the rickety thing. Archie winced.

“Careful! You’re going to break it then I’ll have to put it back together again.” He scolded, getting off the ground before helping her up. She grinned up at him.

“Really? You’d fix that thing? After I just broke it?”

“Yes?” He didn’t understand the question. She tilted her head to the side, the smile draining from her face. He didn’t know what he did wrong but he remained quiet, waiting for her. She filled the silences eventually.

“But I broke it.”

“And I’ll fix it. I mean, I just put it together. It won’t be that bad.” He didn’t know when the breaking went from hypothetical, to an actual discussion but here it was.

Emma frowned.

“Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” He asked.

“Perfect.” She grabbed his collar.

And kissed him.

Her lips were soft, so damn soft. And she tasted like the oranges she had when he came over. And he could smell Mary Margaret’s shampoo that would never be connected to either Mary Margaret or wholesomeness in his mind again.

And she was kissing him. It was a hard kiss, hard and passionate, like Emma. And if he was a stronger man, he would have broken away. Reminded her she was a child. That he wasn’t perfect. That he was older than her father for God’s sake.

But Archie had bad blood and he kissed her back. His hands sank into her hair—soft as silk, and so smooth against his hands. He pressed against her, her belly pushing back and he could see the child as his again. His home, his son, his Emma. He groaned against her lips.

Then he was thrown against the wall.

“What the fuck man!” It wasn’t a question. David had him against the wall, hands clutching his collar right where Emma had. It was probably still warm.

“I’m sorry!” Archie said instantly. “That was wrong. A mistake. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Dad!” Emma pulled David back, probably because it was the first time she used the familial term. David stood, slack jawed, staring at his daughter with swollen lips and messed up hair. His pregnant daughter. That his partner just kissed silly.

She was crying.

“Dad! I kissed him. God. Don’t be stupid.” Tears rolled down her face. Archie was still plastered against the wall, frozen by her tears.

Emma never cried. The pregnant mood swings she was supposed to get were limited to teenage like moods and quiet days where she kept to herself. Archie never saw her cry, despite witnessing some awful days from her.

“Clearly, he doesn’t even like me.” She said, her voice shaking and Archie wished David had hit him. He wished David had pounded his skull in. He’d deserve it.

He hurt Emma.

“Wait.” He started, but she was moving, running, like Emma did. And he could have caught her, she was pregnant and he was skinny, but David caught his arm in a vice grip and let Emma run off. She grabbed a coat—thank God—and was out the door.

One sob echoed in the room after her.

“Emma…” He whispered.

“We’re talking.” David growled. “Now.”

Archie didn’t want to talk. He wanted to get to Emma, to explain what he meant. That it wasn’t a mistake because he didn’t want her, it was a mistake because she deserved so much more. She was young, beautiful, about to start her life.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking. I thought you and Emma were chummy but damnit, Arch, I thought you were better than that! She’s young, beautiful, about to start her life. What are you doing?”

“David…” Archie looked at his partner, his best friend, his family. And told him the truth. “I love her.”

“What?”

“This isn’t…we never…I couldn’t…” He shook his head. “I love her. I have since…god, I don’t know. I know she’s young. That’s why I would never do anything. I swear.”

“But you were kissing.” David took a step closer and Archie threw up his hands.

“She wasn’t lying. It was her idea. I just…David, I _love_ her.” Archie knew David knew Archie’s dating history. A few girls who rarely let him past the first few days and if he did get a relationship it was tepid. Archie thought it was him, that he just wasn’t made for that love. He thought maybe his parents took it from him, when they gave him greed and tricks instead of affection and security.

But he was waiting for Emma, the same way David would have waited for Mary Margaret. Sometimes, you just need to see them.

“She’s my little girl, Arch. And I never got to be with her.” David whispered

“I know.” He squeezed David’s shoulder. “But I would never take her away. I promise. I don’t want to leave either. I tried to stop, I tried to leave but I could…David, you and Mary Margaret, you’re my family. I don’t…I don’t want to lose you.”

David swore. He pulled away from the grip, and from Archie. He ran his fingers through his hair and spun around in the apartment.

“Fine.” He said. “Go.”

“What?”

“Go. Go to Emma. Tell her the truth. _Fine_. You pulled the family card. That’s low.”

Archie gave a small smile, sheepish and weak. The smile he always gave crooks when they let something slip.

“Sorry. I got bad blood.” He said and raced out the door.

* * *

 

Emma was cursing herself. She didn’t know what she was doing. Kissing Archie. Yelling at David. Running out the door like a petulant child. She couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t keep running just because she was scared or upset. She had a child now, was a mother. Mothers didn’t run.

Mothers shouldn’t run.

She wrapped her arms around her belly, crying as she waddled down the street. If people cared that an eight month pregnant woman was wandering down the street, crying, they didn’t stop her. And thank god for it. She just walked around the block, having nowhere else to go. She thought about going to Mary Margaret. She knew the woman, her mother, would like it if she did. But Emma pulled back at the very thought. Her legs were getting tired and her back hurt and she really wished she just ran to her room. And those were all good excuses.

She just turned the corner when Archie came down the stairs from the apartment building. She froze, cursing her luck. Why couldn’t he been gone? Did they really need to have the awkward talk? She already ruined everything; she didn’t want to _talk_ about it.

He turned, eyes meeting hers like he knew she’d be there. His face light up in a way Emma didn’t understand and he ran towards her. She opened her mouth, ready to snap, to yell, to make him go _away_ like everyone else.

But his hands cupped her face and his lips were on hers. They were soft and sweet. He kissed her like she was a treasure, like she was something special. And no one had ever kissed Emma like that.

“I love you.” He said, breaking form the kiss.

“What?”

“I love you. I thought I should open with that.”

“What?”

He frowned at her. His hands dropped to hers, warming them between his. “What I said back there. It wasn’t…I shouldn’t have said it. I want you to know first, and last, I love you. Don’t be afraid of that.”

Tears seared her throat, her eyes and Emma wanted to hit him. He kept doing that. Kept saying the right thing. Kept making her feel…special. Emma Swan wasn’t special. She knew that better than she knew her own name.

“You said it was a mistake.” She growled, pulling her hands free.

“Because you’re nineteen, Emma. I’m older than your father!”

She snorted, turning away from him, trying to wipe her eyes clear. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of him. He didn’t deserve to see.

“And?”

“Emma, you’re young, beautiful, you deserve someone…your age.”

“I don’t like boys my age.” Emma put a hand over her stomach. “They lie and steal and break you.”

“That was one boy—”

“Don’t you dare, Archie Hopper.” She said, swinging back around. “It was every boy. Every single one. From the first one that made me kiss him so I could have dinner that night, to the last one who promised me a home and gave me a jail cell. Two men have treated me nicely and only one has demanded nothing in return for it. And that’s you.” She poked him in the chest. He stumbled back, eyes wide. She still cried. The tears wouldn’t stop but Emma wasn’t ashamed or protective of them anymore. “David, Dad, David…he wants everything from me. Love and trust and a family and I don’t know if I got that in me. All I got in me is this kid. Who needs me. And you. You’re in me in the worst way and if you don’t like me, fine. I’ll live. But don’t you dare tell me that I need a boy ‘my age’. I hate my age. I hate everything about it.”

“Emma…” He took a step forward but stopped.

What Emma liked first about Archie was that he never wanted to touch her. What she liked second was that he never pushed for more after she touched him. Archie never took a mile when given an inch.

But Emma ran out of inches.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last. “I shouldn’t have said that to your father. I should have told you how I feel.”

“No. You shouldn’t have decided how _I_ feel. Ether love me as a woman or treat me as a child. Don’t do both.”

He stared at her, like she said something profound, like she was smart. He took another step forward, almost touching her. He reached out, hands hovering over her chin. The kiss was in his eyes, on his face but he waited, because Archie always waited. That’s why she kissed him, because she knew, he’d never kiss her first.

“I love you.” He said again and Emma knew that was the best step forward she could get. She grabbed his collar.


End file.
